


forever ago we made a record

by hoosierbitch



Category: Chuck (TV)
Genre: Angst, Friendship/Love, M/M, Memories, Past Relationship(s), Porn Video, Regret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-02
Updated: 2011-05-02
Packaged: 2017-10-22 14:15:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/238920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoosierbitch/pseuds/hoosierbitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bryce kept a tape of him and Chuck having sex during their college roommate days. While he is being a spy years later (but pre-series when they have not spoken in years and Bryce assumes that for Chuck's own protection, he will never be able to see Chuck again), Bryce wanks to the tape.</p>
            </blockquote>





	forever ago we made a record

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for day 2 of [](http://mmom.livejournal.com/profile)[**mmom**](http://mmom.livejournal.com/)! The lovely [](http://daria234.livejournal.com/profile)[**daria234**](http://daria234.livejournal.com/), queen of prompts, provided the inspiration for this fic (the original prompt can be found [here](http://hoosierbitch.livejournal.com/64818.html?thread=1621298#t1621298)!).

They’d started the recording before they were in bed. Bryce had been checking the focus settings while Chuck stripped down, and it was a small dorm room. Not a ton of room to maneuver even when there wasn’t a tripod in the way.

"Shit, I'm so sorry – did I just kick you? I just kicked you, didn't I? Are you okay?"

The next thing on the tape was fifteen ( _fourteen and a half_ ) seconds of Bryce laughing and Chuck protesting. Chuck's worried voice weaving in and out of the speakers as he searched for and found a spot on Bryce's thigh that was a bit red.

"It's going to bruise," Chuck announced.

He’d been right. It did. But when Chuck tried to leave the room to grab an ice pack ( _the click of the door handle, the swish of the terrycloth bathrobe_ ) Bryce had pulled him back, slow dancing with Chuck into the farthest corner of the screen. "So kiss it better."

Then they finally tumbled onto the bed. Right in the center of it. Chuck's nervous eyes were fastened on the camera, but Bryce had just been looking at Chuck.

It was the most embarrassing part of the entire tape. Even more than the tan lines and silly faces and accidental bruises, it was the fact that he’d spent the entire time staring at Chuck like Moses at the burning bush. In disbelief. In awe. In love.

Bryce on the tape ran a hand through Chuck’s wild mop of hair, sighing as Chuck bent his head forward to kiss Bryce's leg.

He could remember the feel of it. Chuck's gentle lips pressing against the wiry hair of his inner thigh so softly, as if he’d been trying to heal Bryce with the brush of his mouth, the touch of his skin, as if Bryce was fixable. Bryce on the tape moaned and pulled Chuck up, up, into the V of his spread thighs, Chuck's mouth had drawn a confident line from Bryce's bruise to his groin to his cock.

Bryce let the tape continue to play as he got undressed. Grabbed the lube from the bedside table and slicked up his palm, settled into bed while the tape rolled through the blowjob. All that was visible was the back of Chuck's head bobbing up and down, and Bryce's face, tangled and tense.

When Bryce came ( _it hadn’t taken long, it never did, not with Chuck_ ), it was loud. A startled grunt that built into a yell as Chuck's head went lower and lower. Swallowing. Bryce started to stroke himself as he watched. When Chuck had finished swallowing and pulled back, he’d laughed. The gift of Chuck’s laugh was sprinkled throughout the tape. Goofy and casual and sweet.

Bryce closed his eyes and listened. The hum of background noise on the tape ( _getting old, getting worn, one day it would break_ ), his own breathing in stereo, the sound of traffic outside the hotel, Chuck Bartowski’s laugh.

They kissed for two minutes. Almost exactly. One-hundred and twenty-three seconds because Bryce had been counting the time in his head, making sure his refractory period didn't turn into selfishness. Trying to make sure that it was as good for Chuck as it always was for him.

"All better," Chuck had announced, as Bryce wiggled into a prone position, on his back, his side to the camera. Then Chuck kissed Bryce's thigh again.

Bryce paused the tape and went to get a drink of water. Stared out the hotel window at the Berlin skyline.

Chuck didn't say his name on the tape. There was nothing on it that could identify him. He still shouldn't have brought it with him. He turned from the window towards the television and stared at his face.

He looked young.

Stupid.

He pressed play and listened to himself breathe. Slow and unsteady.

Chuck had spread Bryce’s legs, his big hands on the ticklish skin of Bryce's knees. Both of them turned to look at the camera at the same time ( _are we really going to do this?_ ) before Chuck pressed Bryce's knees up to his chest and let go. Bryce had held them up. His hands tightening over skin that was still tingling from Chuck's hands, the sore spot that was just beginning to swell.

He squeezed more lube onto his palm and got back into bed as Chuck on the tape began to rim him. It was something they'd done often. Part of their routine. Chuck had read about it online, decided that he wanted to try it, and Bryce had been willing to humor him. Bryce had been willing to do a lot for Chuck.

The first time, Bryce had been so overwhelmed he hadn't been able to come. Not until Chuck had moved from his hole to his cock and then sucked him for about what had felt like hours while fucking him on his fingers.

Bryce was used to it by the time they made the tape. Could come from the touch of Chuck's tongue inside his body, would grow to full hardness after a couple of minutes. He'd been used to it, but that didn't make it any less brilliant.

He watched himself fall apart under Chuck's mouth. The squirming motion of his hips as Chuck rearranged him on the bed, the convulsive grip of his hands as he held himself open, the way his mouth fell open and stayed wide, his eyes closed, neck stretched back.

He looked so goddamn young.

He looked...

He sat up on the hotel bed, onto his knees, and started fingering himself. He was tight. It had been a while. He took his time. He had a few more minutes until the tape got to the good part. A few more minutes of listening to himself gasp before he started to beg _Chuck, please, I'm hard again, just fuck me already, Chuck_. Greedy. Needy. Stupid.

Chuck had pulled away, finally, when Bryce on the tape was about to start crying with need and Bryce on the bed had two fingers scissoring inside of himself. He rubbed his prostate as he watched Chuck smile. Both sent a jolt through his body. Both made his cock jump. On the tape and in real life. Chuck's fucking smile, wide and beautiful, so open and yet so – intimate. Like he was smiling just for Bryce.

Bryce had let his spread knees fall back onto the bed, bracketing Chuck's hips, welcoming Chuck into the open angles of his body. Chuck was still awkward, when he leaned forward and pressed their bodies together. It wasn't as sexy as it looked in porn because Chuck was heavy enough that Bryce hadn't quite been able to breathe and their ribs pressed against each other painfully as they gasped into each other's open mouths. But their cocks had been hard, and slick with Bryce's semen, and he'd started a rhythm with his hips that Chuck had joined with the experience of all the nights they'd spent together doing just that.

The angle of the camera didn't catch anything more than the sides of their hips, the swell of Chuck's buttocks, the scramble of Bryce's hands across Chuck's long back, the bite of Chuck's teeth into Bryce's shoulder. But he could remember how his cock had felt, in the slick canyon of Chuck's hip, how hot Chuck's cock had been.

He fucked himself with a third finger when Chuck pulled back and murmured something that the tape didn't catch.

He'd mumbled it into Bryce's ear. The left side of his head, so Bryce's sweaty smiling face had hid Chuck’s mouth from view.

Chuck had probably done it intentionally. Stealing a private moment away from the camera that had been making them both feel a bit uncomfortable, a bit more turned on. Whispered something that had made Bryce relax into the bed, made his hips pulse upwards one last time before Chuck sat up between his legs and started spreading lube across his dark red dick.

It might have been _I love you_. Or _I want to fuck you._ Sometimes he thinks he remembers Chuck saying _you're so hot,_ or maybe it had been _beautiful_.

Chuck would probably remember what he'd said.

Bryce in the hotel fucked himself hard, three fingers spread wide, blocking any more thoughts of calling Chuck ( _I didn't do what you think I did, I had reasons, how could you think I would do that to you, did you - do you still - am I beautiful?_ ).

Chuck on the tape took his time. He always had, camera or no, no matter how much time they'd had to spend together. Hours, days, stolen minutes in the custodian’s closet in the physics lab. He teased Bryce's hole with just the head of his cock, blushing furiously as he moved Bryce's legs to make sure it would all get caught on tape.

"You pervert," Bryce had teased. " _Fuck,_ " he'd gasped, as Chuck had thrust half his cock inside Bryce's body in retaliation.

Eight minutes.

Not that long, for them. Chuck usually lasted longer. But he'd been hard even before they'd gotten into the room with the borrowed camera, furtively holding it in front of his body to hide his erection. Chuck had stroked himself as he set up the equipment, watching Bryce make up the bed with clean sheets.

Eight minutes.

For eight minutes Bryce in real life ignored the Berlin skyline and the unfamiliar room and the gun on the bedside table and the fake passport in his briefcase and the job he'd been sent to do, for eight minutes he pretended that Chuck still wanted to smile at him and whisper to him and fuck him until he cried and keened and wrapped his body around every inch of Chuck that he could reach, for eight minutes Bryce pretended it was 1999 and all of the lies he'd told Chuck were ones for which he could be forgiven.

Chuck had started off slow. Long, deep thrusts. Had grinned at Bryce because it was a challenge, a tease, because he knew it would drive Bryce crazy. Bryce always wanted it fast and hard, an adrenaline rush more than pleasure. Chuck had started slow but Bryce had known exactly how and when to twist his hips, known just where on Chuck's neck he should bite to get him to speed up.

Chuck was beautiful. He looked older on the tape than he did in any of his pictures. The muscles in his arms were tense and covered in a sheen of sweat, his hair sticking to the back of his neck. Bryce had loved to tug on the little curls that collected there. Chuck looked powerful, in control, and the entire time that Chuck was inside of Bryce’s body, breaking him open and pushing him hard, he didn't, not for a single second of those eight minutes, look away from Bryce's face. For eight minutes Chuck had looked at Bryce the way Bryce always looked at Chuck.

When Chuck came, Bryce closed his eyes. Twisted his fingers around inside his body and jerked himself quickly. A few tight strokes and he was coming all over the bedsheet, body clamping down around his hand, tense, almost painful.

He turned the tape off before Chuck pulled out. Rewound it before it could get to the part where Chuck sucked him off, where Bryce came for the second time. Loudly. Chuck had scolded him once the camera was off, sure that the neighbors had heard.

Because there were parts of the tape that were more torture than tease.

Because he could remember the burn of Chuck's cock stretching him open. The unbelievable warmth of his mouth. The way Chuck’s cheap sheets had felt underneath his eager body. But he couldn’t remember the way Chuck's fingers had traced circles on his legs when his mouth was worshipping Bryce's cock. Hadn’t noticed it when it had been happening, too overwhelmed at the tightness of Chuck's throat, the pressure of his lips, the twist of his tongue. But the tape offered proof. Chuck's fingers had been moving in slow circles. Delicate. Gentle. Soothing.

The VCR _clicked_ when it finished rewinding.

Bryce hid the tape in the secret compartment of his suitcase, cleaned up the bed, closed the curtains tight, and went to bed.

He would dream.

He would dream only secrets that could be explained and kisses that didn’t end after two minutes and smiles that were mirror images of each other and small circles healing bruised skin. And in the morning he would wake up and be Bryce Larkin. And Chuck Bartowski would be worlds away.

*

feedback is loved and adored!


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